The Redeyed stranger
by lysjelonken
Summary: Someone sinister in Lisbon's past has taken her hostage and killed another. Jane and the team have to find the red-eyed stranger in the mysterious photograph, delving deeper in her dark past as they do. Will be Jisbon-romance, OC's and slightly AU...
1. Chapter 1

**The Red-eyed Stranger**

**So I've been thinking about this plotline for a long while, but I've only now come around to write about it. It's gonna have a lot of Lisbon-history in it, and it's gonna end up Jisbon (well, duh, it's me!) The title isn't going to make much sense now, but it will in later chapters… that is to say, if you guys want me to continue with it.**

**Those who watched 'Life', please don't flame because I kind of stole Charlie's wall of stuff. It's not exactly the same, but if you really want to, you can make that connection. So sorry, writers of Life, if anyone thinks it's mine: it's not. Also: Life has no part in this fic, neither does Charlie or anything else from the series. This is in no way a crossover.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine

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It was late Saturday night when the CBI team was called.

A couple of teenagers had apparently called 911 in a frantic state after they had heard a loud gunshot in a house they were riding their bikes past. One brave soul had dared to go peek through the window and saw a man lying on the ground. When local PD arrived at the scene, they immediately identified the dead man as Peter Cove, a multi-millionaire businessman who had just recently gone missing. They (reluctantly) called Madeleine Hightower, who immediately alerted her SCU team.

"Get to the house immediately!" She said; her voice stern. "We've got a lot riding on this one."

And that was why Patrick Jane was pulling into the cop-infested street in his light blue Citroen at a time he should really _not_ be solving crime.

"Evening, Cho." He says as he gets out of the car and makes way to where the team is standing beside one of the black Suburban's, clad in bullet-proof vests. "What's with the vests?"

"Just in case. Local PD gave the house an once-over, but the killer could still be around. So here... Just in case." He handed Jane a vest, but he just held up his hands in a declining gesture.

"No thanks. I think I'll just hide behind Lisbon. Speaking of, where is our fearless leader?"

"Beats me. Hightower called me; said she couldn't get hold of her. I left a message, I'm sure she'll come over here once she gets it."

Jane furrows his brow. "Well, that's certainly out of character."

Cho shrugs in reply.

"Maybe she went away for the weekend. Or she's just asleep… Like I should be this time of night." Rigsby grumbles, strapping on his own vest.

Cho rolls his eyes at them, and leads the way to the front door. "C'mon, we're wasting time…"

The house is dark and the only lights that shine through the blinds are the red-and-blue siren lights and the yellow glow of the street lamps. You could hear a pin fall as the team enters – it's the quintessential cul-de-sac, white picket-fence home. No different from any of the houses that surrounded it. But inside it lay the dead body of Peter Cove with a bullet in his chest.

Choruses of 'clear' rang from every corner as the team spread and search the rooms, each coming up with the same result – no sign of the murderer.

Cho lit his flashlight on the body; up and down. "See anything?" He asked Jane without looking up. Jane crouched down beside the body and started his analysis.

"He was a hostage – see how dirty and crumpled his suit is? This is a rich man in an expensive suit. He wouldn't wear the same suit for days on end if he could help it. He must've recognized his kidnapper; gotten angry. He's a big enough guy; chances is he came at him. Never saw it coming…" Jane holds his hands like a gun and demonstrates how he was shot. "One quick shot to the chest and he was down. Poor guy…."

"Jane!" Rigsby's frantic voice came from the back of the house. "JANE! GET OVER HERE _RIGHT NOW!_"

Jane's head snapped back and a confused expression spread on his face. But he got up and quickly made his way to Rigsby.

"Alright, alright, what's got your panties in a bu-" He can't finish his sentence. The sight before him knocks the wind right out of him and the words dies in his mouth.

Before him is a small room with white washed walls, covered in photos and black felt-tip pen. Each of the three walls before him is made into a collage of three different people, with untidy scribbles in blocks in open spaces. Untidy, _obsessive_ scribbles.

But that wasn't the surveillance-style photo collages or the scrawls of a madman that threw him.

In the middle wall, the one right in front of him; was a patchwork of pictures of a familiar green-eyed, black-haired agent.

Through the chaos of the millions of thoughts that were flashing through his mind, he could only manage three words:

"Where is Lisbon?"

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**Hope that was okay? Please review and share any thoughts/suggestions/ideas/you get the idea…**

**Lurv**

**Zanny X0**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Red-eyed stranger: Chapter 2**

**Thanks everyone for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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Jane was driving faster than ever before. Normally, he wasn't exactly 'Driving Miss Daisy' either, but this was different. The gas pedal was pressed firmly against the floor, as far as it could possibly go.

He was driving in his car, winding through the little traffic there was with ease, with the black Suburban following not far behind, sirens ablaze. He knew the way to Lisbon's apartment like the back of this palm, even though he's only been there once.

When his tires skidded to a halt in the parking lot outside her building, he jumped out the door before the car even came to a complete stop. He flew up the stairs and ran to her doorway, pounding on it and shouting for her to answer; no reaction.

He frantically feels through his pockets for a paper clip, fumbles with it in his shaking fingers and finally manages to pick the lock. He throws open the door and runs into the apartment, yelling for her. When he doesn't see her on the first floor, he flew up the stairs and ran to where he figured out her bedroom would be.

When he saw the empty bed he couldn't move from the spot. The bedding was messed up, like she just slept in it. But she wasn't there. No splayed out black hair on the pillow like he imagined in vain hope on his way here. No soft, gentle breathing of a person who simply overslept and didn't hear the frantic calls of worried co-workers. Just a crisp white comforter – empty and cold.

He staggers back and falls his way down the stairs. The team were just coming in the front door and gave him worried, searching looks.

"S-She's not here…" Jane says. "She's gone."

Then he notices the television is on and there's a, by now cold, cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

"She came here to have a hot drink; watch some TV…" He says softly, pointing at the proof on the table below him. "She couldn't sleep… And that must've been when he came here – right after he shot Cove. He came here and took her."

"Jane…" Rigsby says gently, but he doesn't listen.

"He took her?" Jane said in disbelief. For some reason, the entire idea just seemed foreign; unreal. He never thought Lisbon would ever be gone, and certainly not in this way. If they were ever going to part, it would be because of some or other reason concerning Red John; him, either killing him and being sentenced to life, or being killed _by_ him.

"Jane, we gotta get you out of here."

"N-No…" He said, holding his one hand up to silence Rigsby.

"Jane, we need to get back to the scene. We'll find her… But we need to follow the clues."

Jane nods and purses his lips, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. "You're right. We _have_ to find her…"

X

There were three blackboards up in the bullpen, each one filled with the photos that were on the walls. Since Van Pelt had finished pinning all the pictures up some time ago, Jane hadn't moved from behind them. He stared at those pictures like the answer would pop up in neon writing.

The first was filled with pictures of Lisbon – but not as they knew here. The larger part of these pictures were of a young Lisbon, maybe 14, 15 years old. Her hair was long, past her shoulders and the pale freckles on her nose were much more defined. But she was still recognizable as Lisbon – the black hair, the pale, ivory skin, the striking green eyes. And, of course, the golden cross hanging around her neck… In most of the pictures she was with three black-capped younger boys - her brothers from the picture in her apartment, he immediately recognized. In others she was with large groups of other kids, usually with a motherly, concerned look on her face. And always in front of the same backdrop – a large whitewashed house with weeds in the garden and bright blue windowpanes. There were recent pictures of her too, but those scared Jane. Surveillance-style pictures of her walking out of her apartment, outside the CBI building, at a crime scene…

The next blackboard held pictures of, who they now recognized as, Peter Cove. The pictures ranged from pictures from when he was about 16, taken at the same flakily-painted house with the same groups of kids as Lisbon's pictures.

_She knew him…_ Jane thought. _Wherever these pictures were taken… that must be where they met…_

There were surveillance pictures of him as well: dressed in his expensive business suits, drinking Starbucks and talking into a cell phone.

The next blackboard was filled with pictures of a much younger girl with pitch black eyes. Her pictures were taken in the same way: pictures when she was young (there blonde, not older than 7 and taken at the exact same house as the others), and surveillance pictures, where her hair was dyed dark with bright blue streaks, walking across streets.

_They all knew each other… they all met at this place… and they're all his targets…_

In his hand, he held the one photo that each wall had in common – the _one_ picture where every one of the targets, Lisbon, Cove and the unidentified blonde girl, were in. Along with someone else.

The picture was taken in front of the exact same house as the others, and they were about the same age as the other older photos.

She's smiling that smile that she rarely does, that beautiful smile he's always loved. The little blonde girl is sitting on her lap, smiling happily. Cove is sitting beside her, with a brooding, serious look. And beside them sat a young boy with a shaven haircut, smiling shyly at the camera.

His hair was shaven off army-style, and he had a cut on his lip. But nothing about this was upsetting.

What was upsetting was that the whites of his eyes were bloody red, like he had popped a blood vessel.

"What do you see, Jane?" Van Pelt asks from her desk. When he looks up he sees her watching him intently with a worried gaze.

At this point everyone is worried. About Lisbon being missing, about her apparently being a third of an obsession of some psychopath, about _him_ being like _this_…

"They all knew each other…" He begins.

"Lisbon knew Peter Cove?" Rigsby asks. "That's guy is like a gajillionaire!"

"She knew him before he was Peter Cove. She met him, and this other girl, and probably the murderer, at this place where all these pictures were taken."

"You know who the murderer is?"

Jane nods and hands them the picture. "That little boy in the corner. The one who looks shy, like he doesn't belong. _That's_ the murderer. He took all these pictures himself, when he was young, that day."

"The little boy with the bloody eye?" Cho asks, taking the picture from the Jane's hand.

"Yeah. He probably has a condition. Must've been hard growing up…"

"So great, we've got out murderer. The kid with the red eye."

"No, not great. We don't know his name; we don't know where he is…"

"We can start with the other girl. Maybe she knows his name…"

"Even if we somehow find his name, he could've changed it. So many children change their names when they get out of the system…" He falls down onto his couch, his hands going to rub against his face in frustration.

"The system? Jane what are you talking about?" Van Pelt interrupts his crazed mumblings.

"The foster care system…" Jane says. "Can't you see? The huge, badly-maintained house? The large amounts of children? It screams foster home."

"Lisbon wasn't the foster care system. It wasn't in her file." Cho says.

"Well, not everything that happens to you ends up in your file." He mumbles and walks out of the bullpen to go make him some tea.

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**Alright there! How is it? Please review…**

**Zanny X**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 3**

**Going crazy for the reviews! Thanks guys, you rock!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine

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After two cups of extra-sweet, extra-milky tea, Jane was calm enough to take another look at the pictures.

"The logical place to start is with the girl." He said, walking straight to the blackboard with the unidentified girl's pictures. After staring at the surveillance pictures, he swung around to where Van Pelt sat at her desk. "Van Pelt, search 'Lockett Gallery'."

She starts typing frantically into a search engine and practically instantaneously, a window popped up. "The Lockett Gallery… It's a gallery in Los Angeles that exhibits local artists' work and gives them a platform… Excellent credentials… I've got an address." She says.

X

The seven hour drive to the gallery is in absolute silence –other than the blaring of a country song over the radio.

It feels like the pure, devastating magnitude of the case had taken control over their ability to communicate. Like all words seemed inefficient to deal with the situation. Especially around Jane.

He didn't ask to drive; he didn't even try to steal the keys. When they reached the black Suburbans in the parking lot, he silently climbs into the back seat and proceeds staring out the window like the most interesting visions on earth are flashing outside the window.

When they finally reach the gallery, it's closed.

Jane swears under his breath. "Alright… alright, this is okay… we'll find her somewhere else."

The team, jet-lagged from hours of sitting still in a car, sigh shake their heads wearily. "Jane, we don't even know her name… Let's just book into a hotel, call it a night. We'll come in first thing tomorrow."

"We're wasting time! _Right_ now, Lisbon is somewhere out there in the hands of a crazed psychopath! And what are we doing? We're having a nice nap in a cozy hotel!"

"Alright, Jane, this is just getting ridiculous!" Cho says in a strained, angry voice. "Ever since we found out that Lisbon was taken, you've been like this! You're not any good to anyone when you're crazy like this!"

"How am I _supposed_ to react?" Jane was full-on yelling in reply. "It bothers me that none of you seem like you _give a damn_! This is _Lisbon!_ This isn't _supposed_ to happen to her!"

"_This_ isn't supposed to happen to anyone!" By now they're face to face, having a full-on screaming match. Cho's voice lowers dangerously. "Look, we're all upset. We're all worried about Boss, wherever she might be. But the way you're going off every time we're stalled by circumstances, isn't helping the case. Finding Boss is personal and urgent – we all need to be on our best game. Especially you."

Jane is silenced and he paces on the pavement. "You're right..." He mumbles and rubs his hands across his face tiredly. "I'm sorry, guys. I know I've been going a bit crazy… It's just that I always thought… I don't know what I thought. I guess I just never thought something like this _could_ happen to Lisbon. It's like a carpet being pulled out from beneath my feet."

Cho sighs, calming himself and nods. "Yeah. It's hard on all of us. Right now, what we all need is a good night's sleep. Van Pelt, could you find us a place?"

She nods, awkwardly from watching the heavy show-down. "A motel, just down the road."

"Good."

They get back in the SUV and Rigsby starts the ignition. As they drove off, Jane looked out the window at the gallery – a building with large windows, displaying a bounty of framed artworks enveloped in darkness.

He knew tomorrow in _that_ gallery, they'd find a clue to who the girl in the photograph was.

He knew that maybe, just maybe, the girl might have a name for the bloody-eyed boy.

And he knew there was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

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**So I planned to introduce the girl in this chap, but it wasn't to be. Next chap will have a brief flash from Lisbon!  
Please review?**

**Zanny**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Red-eyed stranger: Chapter 4**

**Thanks guys! You rock!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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She woke with a start and immediately regretted it. The jerky movement of her head left it spinning like mad and a pain that seemed sharp and blunt at the same time surged through her every vein.

She tentatively touched her forehead and felt a flaky _something_ there. She took her fingers higher, to the crown of her head where the pain seemed to surge from and immediately jerked her hand away when it felt raw and intensely painful. When she brought her fingers back, they were red with blood.

She gasped and looked around to her surroundings. There were bright lights, blinding her. It seemed like everywhere she looked, spotlights shone.

She blinked frantically, willing her eyes to _please_ get used to the light. Once they did, she saw that it wasn't as much that she was surrounded by spotlights as it was a bright light above her head and pure white walls reflecting the intense sheen.

And she thought: Am I in heaven?

No, this was by no means heaven. This was more like hell.

Question was, how did she even get here?

She didn't move a muscle from where she lay (her head hurt too much to even lift herself up), but her eyes darted around the room in frantic interest.

Her hands grasped the sheets beneath her – yes, there were sheets – and she finds that she is lying on a bed. The sheets are by no means thousand-count, but they aren't scratchy either.

Slowly, she turned her head. It was painful, but she reached her destination and took a good look around the room.

And it scared her.

Her vision was blurry, but she could make out the outline of a wooden table with two chairs against the bright white walls, standing on the freakishly clean white-tile floors.

And there was something pinned against the wall – something small and square…

Before she could strain herself to see any more, the pain become too immense and she succumbed to the darkness…

X

According to the sign on the door, The Lockett Gallery opens at nine on weekdays. Jane was pacing in front of the doors by eight thirty.

The team is sitting in the SUV waiting, still dozing in their seats. He woke them at six and they were exhausted.

Van Pelt sighs from her place in the backseat. "So much for him calming down."

"Yeah, I figured my speech would last up to at least this afternoon." Cho said.

Finally, a bleach-blonde receptionist in a black turtleneck (obviously trying extremely hard to fit in at her new job)walks to the front door from somewhere in the back and unlocks it.

Jane storms in. "What took you so long?"

The receptionist stumbles over her words, clearly not used to these levels of crazy this early in the morning. "I-I'm sorry, sir, we only open at 9 o' clock…"

"I'm with the CBI. We need to know if you know this girl." Jane flashes his laminated CBI card and hands her one of the surveillance pictures of the girl.

"Y-Yes, I know her." She says, nervously looking over her shoulder. "Did she do something wrong?" Her voice is squeaky and nervous and it makes Jane do a double-take.

Cho was right – he was getting too freaked out to do anyone any good.

Jane takes a deep breath and softens his tone. "No… No, I'm sorry; I'm just a bit… Yeah. We think she might have some information on a killer who currently has a hostage. Do you have her name?"

"Riley. Riley Keats. She's an artist, we sell her work."

"Do you know where we can find her?"

"Yeah, I have the address to her studio. Well, her apartment." She says and quickly makes her way to the back of her desk where she starts burrowing through a pile of business cards and finally pulls one out.

It simply says 'Riley Keats – Painter'. On the back, in terribly untidy handwriting, there is an address and number scrawled.

Jane holds the card to his chest. "Thank you…" He says, before running out the gallery, leaving the poor receptionist extremely confused.

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**There you go! Next, you'll meet Riley.**

**Review!**

**Zanny X**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 5**

**I love the reviews! You guys rock! :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine

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When Lisbon woke again, it was because of a screeching noise echoing from the walls.

She strained her eyes as best she could, but there was no door or opening for the noise to come from… Just white wall.

She braved an attempt to sit up – wincing at the throbbing in her head – and she grabbed at the sheets beneath her as she unsteadily propped herself up against the headboard of the bed.

Something fell on her lap. A Granola bar, which had apparently lain on her chest, was now sitting there on her legs.

And she thought: _ A Granola bar? I'm sure that wasn't there…_

She needed to know where she was and why she was there. And, most importantly, _who_ took her here.

The meager gift of food was a bad sign – whoever was holding her hostage was planning on doing it for a while. That's why he's feeding her, to keep her alive.

She turned her head and looked along the room. The glaring whiteness was starting to become unclear again, like a mirage in the desert.

But she had to get up… she had to get a better look at her surroundings.

She slowly swung her legs across the bed and her feet touched the ground. She felt something under her foot; it was thin as paper, smooth and glossy.

She looked down (_Why won't the room stop spinning?)_ and slowly, carefully, reached down to the object trapped under her left foot. She brought it back up, lowering herself back until she lay down on the bed once again.

_Alright, I think that was enough activity for now…_

Wincingly, she brought the object up to eye level. What she saw surprised her…

X

They pulled into the lot of an apartment building downtown – it certainly wasn't a _good_ neighbourhood, but it was by no means shifty.

The team walked up the steps to the front door and pushed the intercom of the apartment number scrawled on the back of the card.

A voice croaked through the speaker: "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Riley Keating?" Rigsby said into the intercom.

"Yes..?"

"We're with the CBI. We need to talk to you. Can we come up?"

After a moment of silence, the speaker buzzes with sound again. "No. But you can come see me down here…"

They look down and see another set of steps beside the ones they were on, leading down. At the end of the steps, a door opened and a girl with blue-streaked hair peeked out the small opening of the door which was still attached to a chain.

As they descended down the stairs she held up a finger. "Nuh-uh-uh… Badge?"

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt took out their badges and showed them to her. Satisfied with the identification, she closes the door again; the clinking sound of the chain alerting them she's opening up.

Then the door opened, revealing the girl that Jane had been staring at in surveillance photos for days on end. She was tall and curvy and wore an oversized white T-shirt splattered with paint; her eyes were dark, almost black, and then there was the hair – brunette with spring break-style blue streaks.

She flashed a bright smile and let them in. "Good afternoon, officers. How may I help you?"

As they walked into the room, Jane analyzed. It was a loft-style apartment with the lower floor, where they were now, converted into a studio. The floors were covered with patches of newspapers and sheets and there were complete paintings and empty canvasses propped up against every surface.

"Riley, we're going to get straight to the point. You're being followed."

Her face fell immediately and she frowned. "H-How would you..?"

Jane handed her some of the surveillance pictures and she looked through them, her face becoming more horrified with each picture she sees. "Th-this is me… At work…"

"Yes." Jane said bluntly.

"Now… I really appreciate you telling me this…" She says, pulling a chair out from under a desk, sitting down. "But how do you know this?"

"How do you know Teresa Lisbon?"

"Tess?" She's shocked. "What does she have to do with this..? Wait, from where did you say you were?"

"CBI."

She sighed relieved. "So you work with her?"

The girl's relief made Jane uncomfortable. From what he saw so far from her reactions, she and Lisbon were close. He didn't want to be the one to tell her…

"We _do_ work with Agent Lisbon…" Cho rescued him. "But unfortunately, that's now how she pertains to this case…"

Riley looked down at the photo in her hand, a calculating, scared expression taking over her face. Then she yelled: "TOMMY!"

After a moment of silence, a reply came from somewhere upstairs, and footsteps could be heard coming down an unseen staircase. A door then opened, revealing the stairs and a young man.

Jane's breath hitched in his throat when he saw him. Skinny, tall, with pale skin, ebony hair and familiar green eyes. He looked so much like his sister it wasn't even funny. And, to further confirm his fears, Jane recognized him from the photo in Lisbon's apartment as well.

This was, in fact, Tommy Lisbon – Teresa's brother.

The one she asked Cho to call that time they in (fake) mortal danger at the bioweapons facility.

He was right there in front of them, with shocked eyes rigged at his girlfriend, Riley Keats, who by now looks like she's on the edge of tears.

"Riley, are you alight?" He runs to her side and takes her hand.

She nods between jerky gasps.

"What's wrong?"

Cho is the only one who finds his voice in the emotional display. "We believe that Miss Keats might be in danger. There is an unidentified man at large who has murdered a man. He currently holds Agent Teresa Lisbon as hostage. We need to identify him and find her before it is too late."

"T-Teresa Lisbon? Like… My sister?"

"Yes sir."

There is a moment of shocked, hesitant silence. Riley is now in tears, struggling to contain her heaving breaths. Jane stands silently with his hands in his pockets; overwhelmed and angry and most of all scared as hell. The team is struggling to keep a professional face in the emotional room filled with the sobbing friend and devastatingly-similar sibling of their missing boss.

And then Tommy Lisbon says something that reminds Jane of his sister, and it immediately fills him with renewed hope.

"I think we all need some coffee right now."

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**Alrighty then! Please review! I mean, pretty, pretty, pretty please! Then I'll send you cyberhugs, and what's better than a cyberhug? :) **

**Zanny X**


	6. Chapter 6

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 6**

**Thanks to all my fantastic reviewers!**

**Italics here are hallucinations that Lisbon is getting from her concussion. They are sort of brought on from what she saw on the object from last chap (still not saying what it is, bwaha! :P)**

**Disclaimer: No, still nothing…

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_It was a sunny day in 1989 when she and her three brothers arrived at the house in the social worker's broken down old car. She peered out of the window and held Tommy closer to her chest. _

_She was almost eighteen! Just one more year and she could legally adopt the boys. She tried to make a case out of it, but the social worker wouldn't even alert a lawyer. He just shook his head with a weary expression like she was just a stupid child who had no idea how the real world worked. Well news flash, wise guy! She's been taking care of these kids since she was twelve. Besides, if she was to commit a crime, she would be trialed as a legal adult. Why shouldn't it go both ways? Why isn't she being treated as an adult when she's looking for legal help?_

_Who knows what kind of damage an entire year can do in the foster system. An entire year of living in a place that constantly reminds you that one of your parents is dead and the other didn't care enough to save him from drinking himself to death? She pleaded the case so many times; she's old enough, she knows she can do it. The boys already think of her as a mother-figure. They might not even notice a difference, other than moving to a place within her meager price range. _

_And now they had to stay in this place for a whole year, or maybe even more, until she gets the mess that the adoption promises to be, sorted out. _

_The house is large in stature but it definitely isn't impressive. It looks like a child's drawing - a large square-shaped building, painted white so meagerly that the flaking chips looks like wide-spaced crayon lines. The garden was big though. There was one bright side – somewhere for the boys to play. It was more weeds than grass, but it'll do… under the circumstances._

_The pain surges through her once again; she swallows the lump that forms in her throat and urges the tears burning her eyes away immediately. _

_The social worker that treated her like a kid opens the door and helps her with the bags. The foster mother greets them at the door – she has mousey brown cherry curls that have been pulled up into a very messy ponytail. _

_When they enter the house, they are greeted by a crowd of children. She likes to think that it's because they are all running around, yelling, that she can't count them, but she's not so sure._

_The mother greets them with an overly cheery façade, waving her arms open, but she doesn't care. She looks over her shoulder and gazes worriedly at her little brothers. Tommy worries her the most, he's only seven. He doesn't need any more insecurity at that young age… _

_She shows them to their rooms. That's when she gets upset. _

"_I'm not in the same room as my brothers?" The foster mother is taken aback by the angry outburst from such a seemingly quiet girl._

"_Of course, dear. We can't have the boys and girls sleeping in the same rooms, now could we?"_

"_But what if something happens to them? What if they get a nightmare or something?" It's not nightmares she's worried about. It's not being there to protect them at night; sleeping in a hall full of strangers._

"_They're right down the hall. They can call you…" She says, leaving the matter at that._

_She kneels down to eye level with Brian, the oldest. "Brian… If anything happens – anything! – you call me immediately. I don't care if it's embarrassing or lame or if you don't want to make a big deal. You call me, understood?" _

_Brian nods. He's fifteen, he gets it. _

_The mother (who is now starting to annoy her) peeks her head into the door. "Come on, sweetie, you can't be hanging around the boys' room all day! Let's get you to your bed!"_

_She's lead to another sleeping hall-type place and assigned an identical bunk bed. "Now, all of our older girl's beds are already occupied, so you'll be sharing with one of the younger girls. You'll like her very much, I'm sure."_

_She nods. "Sure. But if she wets the bed, I'm sleeping on the top bunk." _

_The foster mother doesn't get her humor. But she doesn't want to push it, in case she decides that Teresa Lisbon isn't a good fit for the household and splits up the family…_

_So she smiles and politely thanks her for all she does. The foster mother leaves with a smile on her face, and she lies down on the top bunk with tears in her eyes._

"_I don't pee the bed." A small, yet demanding, voice comes from somewhere in the corner of the room. _

_She quickly wipes the tears from her face and shoots up to see who spoke. _

"_Who said that?"_

"_Me." Comes the voice again – right below her. She looks down and sees, standing beside the bed, and short little blonde girl. "I'm Riley. Your bunkmate."_

"_Hi… I'm Teresa."_

"_You're crying, Teresa." _

"_No, I'm not."_

"_Yes, you are. But that's okay. I cried too when I came here… Of course, I was four years old." Teresa was starting to get very annoyed with this little girl._

"_Whatever." She fell back onto the pillow and shifted to her side._

"_And by the way?" Riley's voice came again. "I sleep on the top bunk." _

_Teresa feels a tug at the blankets beneath her, and before she can say anything more, they're pulled out from under her, sending her flying off of the bed. _

_She lies on the floor and looks up at the blonde girl, now sitting on the top bunk with a satisfied smile._

_A smile creeps upon Teresa's face. "I like you." She says._

X

The team is sitting around the table in Tommy Lisbon's kitchen. Riley Keats - his girlfriend whom he met at the foster home, Jane had deduced – is boiling water in the kettle.

"Who wants coffee?" She asks, her voice still shaky.

The team choruses a decline (a professional courtesy that Jane never really understood).

"I'd have some tea if you have it?" Jane asks.

"Tea?" Riley scrunches her nose in a puzzled look.

"Do we _have_ tea?" Tommy asks her, leaning back in his chair so he can look at her.

"You know what, I think we still have from when my grandm-… Never mind." She remedies herself in mid-sentence and buries herself in the work of preparing the tea and coffee.

Jane doesn't seem to be offended.

"So, what exactly is going on?" Tommy asks when Riley returns to the table, with a cup of tea for Jane and coffee for Tommy and herself.

"Here's the deal: Peter Cove was killed and we found, at the scene, signs of what we believe is obsessive stalking." Cho slid over pictures of the walls to them and they looks at it with horrified expressions. "Agent Lisbon's pictures were also on that wall, as well as yours and Mister Cove's. Agent Lisbon is now missing; we believe that Cove's killer has her."

"Wait, who's Cove?" Riley asks, still staring at the pictures. "I mean, the guy who died. How is he connected to me and Tess?"

"You don't recognize him? You were in a picture with him?" Cho slides another photo over; the one taken years ago, at the foster home.

"Oh my…" Riley's hand flies to her mouth in shocked realization. "Baby, its Boyd!"

"Who?" Van Pelt asks.

"Boyd Peterson. I recognize him now… He must've changed his name."

"Well, can you blame him?" Tommy mutters.

"I agree; it must've been a hard name to grow up with. Riley, I have a question. Why were you even at the foster home if you have a grandmother who likes such exquisite tea?" Jane asks, raising his cup of tea as evidence.

"My grandmother didn't know about me at the time. Let's just say it was a messy childhood."

"Ah, that must've been how you and Lisbon got along so well? Because you two have extremely different personalities."

Riley sighs. "Not as different as you think, Mister Jane." Tears start to well up in her eyes. "Tess…" She whimpers. "I just spoke to her last week. She said she'd come to my exhibition! How could this have happened?" Tommy takes her in a supportive hug and from his seat, Jane can clearly see the anguish in the boy's own eyes.

There's a moment of sad silence as the two try to regain their composure; Jane silently doing the same, though his meltdown was much more internalized.

"Riley, Tommy… I know this is difficult, but we think we might know who the killer is. The boy in that picture with the bloody eye… Do you recognize him?"

The two look at the boy in the picture as if they notice him there for the first time.

Tommy shakes his head. "I dunno…"

The team looks down dissapointedly. A dead end…

"Wait…" Riley says. Their heads lift immediately, hope filling their eyes.

"I think I remember this guy… He used to take tons of pictures with this little camera he had… He didn't stay long at the home, not much longer than a month or so… Apparently, he did some seriously creepy things…."

"A name? Do you have a name?"

Riley looks up at them; her dark eyes are cloudy.

"Something Croxley? I remember that last name, nobody pronounced it right and he kept repeating it… over and over…" It was like she was stuck in a haunting nightmare. She snapped back and her eyes regained their splendor. "Is that enough?" She asks hopefully.

"It might be…" Van Pelt says and excuses herself.

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**REVIEW! And you'll find out how Van Pelt is going to find him...? TWO CYBERHUGS FOR THE FIRST REVIEWER OF CHAP 6!**

**Zanny X**


	7. Chapter 7

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 7**

**Thanks everyone for reviewing! Man, do I love reviews! They always make me so happy! It's insane...**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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**

_It was much later in the same year that she arrived at the foster home. An unexpected sunny day came along and the entire household was running around outside._

_After almost the entire year here, things turned out better than she thought they would be. Being around children has always been a joy for her and the large house full of kids brought out the motherly side in her. This, in turn, made the foster mother love her. She was one of the few kids who washed the dishes before she was asked and didn't complain. And she always took care of the other kids, the way she had always taken care of her brothers._

_One particular little girl crawled into her heart in record speed. Her little bunkmate, Riley, had become a fast favorite; the cheeky little tomboy reminded her much of herself when she was that age… But that was long before everything went bad._

_As Teresa was walking through the weed-ridden grass, she kept a hawk's eye on Riley. She was playing with Tommy now, chasing each other around with Riley threatening to pull his hair. She smiled; she had a sneaking suspicion that those two liked each other… Maybe it was the way Riley blushed bright red whenever Tommy came in the room?_

"_Tessie! Come over here! There's a new kid… And he's taking pictures!" Riley's voice rang out from somewhere behind her. When she looked back, she saw the little boy that she'd never seen before with a tiny, yellow plastic camera glued to his face. He was taking pictures of everything and everyone._

_She caught up with her brothers and Riley, walking towards the scene. "Fresh meat, you say?" She asks._

"_Yeah… And he has a weird eye." Riley says, pointing at her own eye in emphasis._

_Teresa frowned. "How do you mean?"_

"_It's like all bloody and red."_

"_Gross!" Tommy exclaimed. _

"_Hey, listen you two; you don't say anything about it! You don't stare, you don't laugh, you don't do anything mean. Are we understood?" _

_A chorus of exaggerated sighs. "Yes, Ma'am."_

_They were now right next to the boy with the camera, where groups of the kids were posing for pictures. When the boy turned to her, she was shocked, but she quickly remedied herself. The white of the boy's one eye was almost entirely bloody red. He looked up at her with a bright smile and she smiled back. _

'_Poor boy,' she thought. 'It has to be hard to be on the playground.'_

"_Hi… Can I take your picture?" He asks._

_She nods, and smiles. He takes the picture, smiling._

"_Another!" _

"_Alright…" She chuckles and pulls Riley onto her lap. Someone else peeks into the picture, Boyd Peterson, she thinks. _

_Just before he takes it, she waves him in. "C'mon, why don't you come into the picture too?" _

_He looks amazed, dumbfounded. "Y-You want me in the picture?"_

"_Sure, why not?" She asks, shrugging. _

_The boy hands the camera to someone else, his hands shaking, and he walks into the shot. _

"_Say cheese..!"_

This was the picture. She remembers that day – it's been coming to her in hazy flashbacks; trance-like hallucinations. This is the picture from the boy's camera.

She remembers he left a month after that. There were rumors going around the house about why, but the foster mother would never tell her straight. Perhaps if she hammered on it a little longer; but soon it was her eighteenth birthday and she was old enough to request the legal adoption of her three brothers.

She had to leave – she was eighteen, she couldn't stay there any longer and she absolutely refused to leave them alone. Besides, she was starting at the Police Academy that year. Riley had to stay in the foster home, though, but because of Teresa's unique relationship with the foster mom, Riley practically lived in their downtown apartment.

Lisbon looked down at the picture in her hand – the one that had previously been the blurry, grey square against the wall. Now, two important questions: Firstly, what on earth was it doing in the room she was being held hostage in? And second, how did it get from the wall to her bedside? Especially since there didn't seem to be a door, window or any latches in the floor or ceiling?

X

Van Pelt walked back into the apartment with her laptop under her arm and carefully placed it on the kitchen table.

"Can I do a quick search here?" She asks.

"Sure, whatever you need." Tommy says nodding.

She starts typing violently onto the keyboards, falling silent.

Jane is staring at Tommy where he sits across the table, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

"What?" He asks, impatiently. Jane almost chuckles. It's actually ridiculous how similar Tommy is to his sister. Unless of course you look really closer: Tommy isn't nearly as goal-orientated. He was much more of a youngest-child. He wanted what he wanted and he'd pout if he didn't get it. He was less forgiving…

Which reminded him…

"She wanted you to make peace…" He said.

Tommy looks up at with a confused expression. "Excuse me?"

"She, uh… wanted you to make peace with your other brothers. Once, me and her… we were pretty much stuck in a biohazard facility and we… well, she… thought were gonna die."

"How did you-?"

"Long story. Anyway…" He looks down at his hands, awkwardly. "That was her last wish. She called Cho and asked him to call you and tell you to make peace with them."

When he looks up he's taken by surprise. Tommy's face had become red and he was crying – _crying_ – tears running down his cheeks. He had held himself together expertly when they told him that his sister was missing. When they told him his girlfriend was in mortal danger from the same guy. When they told him that it was possible they've met the killer.

Now he was crying like a child. "Sh-She was always telling me I shouldn't fight with them… Whenever she came here, she'd visit Brian as well… And then she'd try and get us to talk to each other… Every time, without fail. And every time we'd ignore her pleas; we'd never even tried to make peace."

Tommy draws a shaky breath and tries to regain his composure once again.

"I'm sorry." Jane says softly.

"I know what happened to you… I know about your wife and your daughter and that serial killer, Red John."

Jane looks up at him with questioning eyes.

"It's not exactly a secret who my sister is working with. Her name is in the paper every second day apologizing to people on your behalf."

"Yeah... I'm sorry about that…"

"You don't have to. It's her job… And her job is her life… I'm really sorry about what happened to you."

He nods silently, looking down at his hands.

"Alright, Tommy, do you remember what the names of the foster parents were? Or the address of the home?"

"Uh, yeah… Pete and Norah Wilkinson. The street name was some kind of tree… Pine?"

"Got it… Do you have the year he was there?"

"Uh… 1989 or 1990. Is that enough?"

"Well, we have a last name and a special condition. It might be…" Van Pelt muses.

Then a beeping sound emits from the computer and a smile crosses Van Pelt's face.

Jane never thought he'd ever find a beeping sound so beautiful.

* * *

**Alrighty then! Hope that was okay..? Please review; pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please?**

**Zanny X**


	8. Chapter 8

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 8**

**Disclaimer: Not mine

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**

On 1978, David Croxley was born to Andrew and Nadia Croxley, a photographer and a homemaker. It started out to beautifully – parents blissful about the arrival of their first-born. The enthusiastic father even bought a bright yellow camera and documented every moment. But after his birth, David's mother fell victim to a terrible case of postnatal depression. Never in his life could he get a straight answer from his social worker on exactly what happened that night, but somehow his mother attacked him, stabbing him in the eye and nearly killing him, before jumping out the window. His father, who had been sitting in the living room at the time, rushed in just in time to see his wife fall to her death and his newborn son crying blue murder on the kitchen counter, his face bludgeoned.

He was rushed to the hospital. Somehow the surgeons managed to save him, but it left a terrible mark – one of the veins in his eye was damaged irrevocably. For the rest of his life there would be blood leaking into the whites of his eye – not enough to bleed out or be life-threatening, but just enough to always be there. _Always_ a terrible reminder of his mother's betrayal.

When David was two years old, his father buckled. The man couldn't take raising a child on his own, especially after the heartbreak of losing his wife so tragically and with his son's taunting defect. He dropped the child at the police station in his old car seat with a note and a yellow plastic camera stuffed into the side pouch. David was put into the foster system.

Growing up surrounded by crowds of other children left him insecure – he was often bullied because of his eye. Nobody wanted to keep the boy with the bloody eye and creepy manner about him.

When he was 11, David Croxley was sent away to another foster home – Norah and Pete Wilkinson's home on 27 Pine Road. It didn't seem any different from any of the other places he's been. After a while, they all look exactly the same.

But here he met an angel. He remembers the exact moment: He was taking pictures with his most treasured possession, the last thing he had left of his parents. She glowed in the soft sunlight, her skin white as snow. Her hair was deep black; a beautiful contrast. She was hovering around a younger girl and three younger boys that looked a lot like her. She held their hands in hers and pulled them closer to her in a protective gesture. Then she stopped them and kneeled to eye-level and spoke to them in a stern tone; motherly.

Then she walked up to him and she spoke; her voice was deep and husky, not like the high-pitched other girls that teased him so mercilessly. She smiled at him and asked him to get in the picture. It was like suddenly a light went on; suddenly someone seemed to _consider_ him as a human being.

For the next month he watched her. She always hung around with her brothers and the little blonde girl. She was so responsible; he smiles fondly as he remembers. She always took care of everyone. He remembers the first time he saw Boyd Peterson. It was that same day; he popped into their photo. He watched Boyd too – mainly because Boyd was watching _her_. He was always around her, smiling at her. He saw she was an angel too, David thought angrily. He saw the way he looked at her; like a hungry animal.

He got mad at him one day. Boyd had it coming; he attacked him with the first thing within his reach. Which happened to be a fork.

Boyd was much bigger than him and only got a minor scratch on his leg. But the incident got David transferred to another foster home. Away from her – away from his angel.

For years and years he thought about her; thought about finding her, tracking her down. He thought about a million things he could say…

But when he finally, after more than twenty years, found the courage to take action he had no idea where she was. In fact, he really only knew a first name: Teresa.

He had that one picture, and with that one picture, he found a way. He recognized Boyd immediately; his face was always in the papers. Ostentatious bastard that he's always been…

He did his research. He took pictures, he made plans. And he took him, held him in a special room he prepared in the basement of his house. The poor bastard didn't stand a chance – mainly because he evened the playing field with sleeping pills ground into Granola bars. He'd ask him questions about her; he heard she became a policewoman, but that's it.

He knew about Riley, though. She was an artist. He'd walked into one of her exhibitions and bought one of her paintings.

So David moved on to the little blonde girl who became an artist. She was living with one of Teresa's brothers, he realized. After that, it wasn't so hard to find her.

He spent weeks researching. Taking pictures of her day-to-day rituals and activities.

He was almost ready to go get her; then Boyd, or _Peter Cove_, escaped. He recognized him, got angry. He hit him and insulted him, just like everyone has, _always_. He grabbed the gun that he held in the drawer but never took out. And he shot him.

When he saw the blood seeping through his shirt and the life drain out of his eyes, he panicked.

Soon there'll be police. And then he'd never find her; he'd never find his angel and never see her again.

He ran out the back door and drove to her apartment building. He picked the lock and sneaked inside. He ground more of his sleeping pills in her sugar and hid behind the door.

Like clockwork she staggered down the stairs into the kitchen – like he knew she would. She made herself a hot drink in vain hope it'll help her sleep.

It didn't quite do. When she passed out on the couch, he picked her up to carry her out. She was so tiny, so beautiful. The years treated her well…

But she woke up. She jumped out of her arms and starting fighting back with surprising strength for such a tiny person. He had no choice than to hit her over the head; it was for her own good!

He walked down the stairs of the house he was renting. There was the white-walled basement where he was holding her. Apparently, the house belonged to some scientist before him.

He opened the door (white as well, blending in perfectly with the wall, making it seem invisible) and went to sit by her bedside. She looked so peaceful when she was sleeping…

He's been feeding her more sleeping pills in her food. He has to, otherwise she wouldn't sleep. And that's just not healthy…

He sees the picture in her hand and smiles. He put it up on the wall, in memory of the day they first met. Then, when he came to see her, he brought it over to her bedside. He wanted to see how she'd changed.

Her hair was shorter now and cut into bangs. He liked it; it fit her well.

There were crow's feet forming at the corners of her eyes, and there were frown-lines between her eyebrows – but then, they've always been there.

She was still beautiful.

He strokes her glossy, black hair gently. She turns in her sleep towards the contact and her beautiful blue-green eyes flutter open.

She peers up at him tiredly through thick, black lashes. Then her breath hitches in her throat and something that couldn't possibly be fear threads through her eyes.

"It's… It's you..!"

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**Next chap will be purely Jane and the team. So we're in the last few chapters of the fic – one or two more to come and maybe an epilogue? Review and tell me what you think!**

**Zanny Xx**


	9. Chapter 9

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 9**

**Thanks for the reviews, guys!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine

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**

They rushed to the Suburban and sped down the road with the sirens blaring. Van Pelt was sitting in the front seat with her laptop on her legs, searching for a current address. A quick call to the landlord confirmed that the house Boyd Peterson was murdered in was rented by a man with a bloody eye.

"He's still in Sacramento." Jane said. "Somewhere close by."

"I've got an ID and driver's license for David Croxley. Current residence is the murder scene… Nothing else… Jane, you don't have any clue..?"

Jane shook his head, rubbed his eyes and gave a hesitant puff of air. "I can't think… I can't think about anything…"

He earns nervous glances, but their pace doesn't falter.

Jane fixates his eyes on the road in front of him, the cars parting to the sides at the sound of the siren. The scenery is flashing past the windows and the wind was violently buzzing as they sped down the road.

_Lisbon… Lisbon… Lisbon…_ She was all that was on his mind. Where was she? Please, please, _please_ let her be okay…

"Then we're gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. I'm gonna call in and have Hightower put uniforms all over the city with a description."

Jane nods solemnly. Tears are threatening to fall from his eyes but he wasn't going to let them. He's been (relatively) strong for the entire case. He can't break now. Not now, not when they were so close to finding her… They are close. Aren't they?

They had to be close. They just _had_ to be close. He didn't know how much longer he could keep himself collected.

The feelings that were pulsing through his heart felt tragically familiar – the same he felt years ago, right after Red John took his family for him and he had the breakdown. Helplessness – total, unequivocal, infuriating helplessness. It was the most terrible feeling in the world. Heart-wrenching pain and you can't do anything about it. You have no way of dealing with it. Your only option to try and survive while the poisonous sting floods you more and more, until your heart is so heavy and numb it's like lead in your body cavity and your head feels like it's going to sink down your spine and land at your feet.

He tried to close his eyes and distract himself from the hurt. He thought of her – he thought of her smile, and her eyes. The way she laughed; that rare, beautiful sound that he never appreciated as he should've. It was true what they say – you never know what you have until you lose it.

When she was here he didn't even think about what she was worth to him. She was just Lisbon – every faithful, ever _there_ Lisbon. 'Translucent' he called her. She was constant, so very constant.

He always knew she was indestructible – oh, how he knew – but he always had that subconscious idea that she could take care of herself. That she would always tackle the suspect; always pull her gun at the perfect time. The closest calls he had were times like when Hardy pulled the gun on her. And the bomb scare. But somehow, perhaps because she survived each time or because he had been so caught in his own problems… He thought that she'd be unconditionally okay.

Now that she was gone, he saw everything he seemed to overlook back then. Like the way she always saved him; if it wasn't for her, chances were he'd have been fired after the first day. She's been his saving grace from the start. Not only that, but she'd given him something he would never have found on his own – she made him part of a family. Of the team. And who knows what would've happened to him if he hadn't had that…

Now that she was gone, he could see how beautiful she was… Not just pretty or attractive. He knew that all along. It was plain to see, you didn't have to be a genius to figure out Teresa Lisbon was an attractive woman.

But she was _beautiful –_ everything about her. Not just her appearance, her _soul_. She was such a pure and wonderful person, despite everything she's been through. This case just emphasized the point, the miracle that she was.

He was an idiot. He didn't see what was right in front of him. _Who_ was right in front of him. What he could've had…

He remembered when they danced at the reunion… What a perfect example. He was too busy enquiring her about what instrument she played in high school – such a trivial, _stupid_ little game – that he didn't enjoy the feeling of her in his arms. A slight smile crosses his features as he closes his eyes and imagines it: The faint reminder of her slight form pressed close up against him; her head resting on his shoulder. Her cinnamon scent flooding over him more intensely than he'd ever experienced.

But he was too busy with his little interrogation. He didn't appreciate her… he didn't _see_ her…

_What could've been… What could've been… _

Images plague his mind: She's laughing at something he did. He imagines her laughing and smiling in a white dress. He imagines her laughing at smiling… with a blonde-haired baby in her arms with her eyes and his smile.

He imagines an entire perfect life for them. A life that he'll be sure to implement if they find her…

_When_ they find her, he scolds himself in his head. Because they_ have_ to find her.

The first tear escapes the hold of his eyes, silently making its way down his cheek.

He doesn't know if he'll survive losing her…

He loves Teresa Lisbon.

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**Okay, I hope that was good… I wanted to do a chapter where Jane just purely realizes his true feelings. I know I've been hinting that he knows he loves her the entire fic through, but he never full-out admitted it. Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Zanny X**


	10. Chapter 10

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 10**

**Disclaimer: Not mine

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**

A city-wide search was underway even before the black Suburban entered Sacramento. Every well-abled officer had a picture of Croxley and orders to keep an extra-sharp eye out and report anyone that looks like they could be the guy's cousin. The picture had also been distributed to every shop in the area and every imaginable real estate service had been called and asked if any of the agents had sold a house for cash to a suspicious-looking man with a red eye.

Every possible measure was taken twice.

The team went back to the bullpen to do some extra searching work – which basically meant Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt were on their computers and phones, and Jane was pacing like a madman.

And it wasn't long before a tip came in. A suspicious neighbor who watched crime-watch. She'd seen (try, spied through her blinds) the man that was being searched move into the house across the street a few days ago. Apparently he came in a van with a pretty, black-haired woman who could barely stand up at the time.

"I just thought she was jet-lagged at the time, Officer…" She said to the uniform at the precinct. "But now I realize she must've been drugged or something horrible!"

Within moments, the officer called the CBI with a 'seemingly credible tip'.

A quick call to the real estate office with a warrant from a judge confirmed the house had been sold only days before and was being rented cash.

And now they were on their way to the house across the street from the distraught housewife.

Jane was tapping his fingers at light's speed on the dashboard.

"Jane, stop that…" Cho said. He was racing the SUV down the highway, already wearing his vest.

He turned off the sirens when they were a few blocks away. "Alright, Jane; you stay in the car like always and we'll go in…"

"No, I want to go in."

"What?"

"There's an extra vest in the back and Lisbon hides guns all over the place. There are at least three extra ones in this SUV alone."

"Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about. I'm more worried about you yielding a weapon. And getting yourself shot by insulting the suspect…"

"I won't, I promise… I need… I need to be there." Jane insisted. Cho looked him in his eyes with the intention to persuade him to just stay in the car. But what he saw shocked him – desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation; the kind that Jane usually guarded in displaying.

With a quiet nod, Cho handed Jane the extra vest.

Jane took it and started feeling around under the seat until he found what he was looking for. The gun was small in his hand – it was _hers_ after all, and she had tiny little hands – and it was cold and clunky and foreign.

He's never felt comfortable with guns… And here he was willingly running into a building where the woman who he recently figured out he _loved_ was being held by a murderer, holding a firearm which he barely knew how to use.

He looked outside the window. The house seemed as normal and everyday as the previous one.

Night had fallen and thunderclouds had started to form in the skies, with only scraps of moonlight shining through. The only clear light came from the yellow glow of the street lights.

The entire scene seemed eerie and filled with horrifying tension… Something was about to happen.

X

"You're as beautiful as ever…" He said in a soft, gentle tone as he stroked her hair lovingly.

She was terrified but she kept her face as composed as she could.

"Hi…" She said, carefully choosing the most unthreatening, soft words she could find.

"Hi." He said with a dreamy smile. "I'm so glad I found you, Teresa. It wasn't easy, either. I didn't even know your last name… Luckily I had that picture so I could find you."

"Wait… you, uh… What?"

"Peter Cove… Or Boyd. Remember? From the home? That filthy bastard was always after you; he kept looking at you like you were a piece of meat." His tone became hard and angry and his eyes froze over.

"Peter Cove went missing a few months ago… You took him?"

"Well, yes. It was the only way to get to you… He lead me to the little artist girl and she lead me to you. _Finally_…" He smiled and a chill went down her spine – not in a good way. "Look at you! Such a strong, independent woman. I always knew you were… Of course, you'll be just as happy when we start our new lives together. We can buy a house in the country; I'll get a job somewhere, maybe as a photographer. You can stay home and raise the kids…"

Lisbon didn't know how to react to this. The man was obviously unstable, but somehow his words made her feel like this was all some kind of cruel prank. Like the team was just going to jump out of a closet and shout 'April Fool's' or something equally annoying, yet harmless.

How was this happening? How did she _let_ it happen!

"Look… uhm…"

"David." He didn't seem to be bothered that she didn't even know his name, even though he was apparently already planning the white wedding.

"David. I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but I'm sure we can figure it out. I'm with the police… As I'm sure you probably know."

He chuckles. "What are you talking about, Teresa? Figure what out? There's nothing to figure out, it's simple. We've got an entire, perfect life ahead of us!"

"David… You need to be realistic about this."

"What do you mean?"

The creepy silence was broken by loud screams coming from somewhere above them. David's head snapped upwards and Lisbon immediately recognized the voices: her team.

Then David looked at her and the frantic look in his eyes scared her; oh yeah, definitely unstable.

"You stay right here. I'm going to deal with this."

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**REVIEW!**

**Zanny**


	11. Chapter 11

**The Red-eyed Stranger: Chapter 11**

**This is going to be really short. But I want to build tension and, if you've read some of my other fics, you'd know that's basically my recipe to build tension: short chaps. Also, I like to torture you. ;)**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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**

The team was running through the house, throwing open every door and pointing their guns at the empty space.

Jane knew better. Croxley wouldn't risk any random neighbor with an empty sugar bowl to come wandering in and find Lisbon. There was something about _this_ house that made him buy it, perhaps a hidden basement or attic, where he would keep her until things died down enough to skip town. While the team was chorusing 'clears' in every room, he's looking at the floor and on the ceiling (all the while clutching the guns with both hands).

"Jane, what are you doing?" Rigsby asks as he comes out of another empty room.

"Look for stairs or a latch of some kind. There has to be a basement, attic or secret room of some kind. That's where he's keeping her – somewhere out of sight."

Jane walks around the room, sweeping his view over every corner while pacing. He heads to a bookshelf and looks at its sides, then shakes his head and walks away. Next he goes to a closet and pulls it open. He smiles and turns to face where the team has gathered. "The closet is a staircase. Look!"

And so it was: The 'closet' opened to a narrow descending hallway with stairs leading to another door, painted white. A lonely light bulb swayed above, lighting the miniature hallway in an eerie orange-yellow glow.

From beneath the bottom door, white light crept through; like a radiating halo around the door that would certainly be a turning point. Either it could be finding her and the start of the beautiful future he now knows he wants; or another tragic twist he's not sure he'll survive.

He was afraid; the what-ifs setting in like it hadn't ever before. What if he goes in there and she's gone? Or worse: If she _is_ there. But dead.

There is no question on how he'd react. Badly.

Flashes of locked rooms and condescending psychiatrists struck him.

He gripped the gun tighter in his sweaty hands and assumed the position he's seen Lisbon take a millions times before.

If he thought about it, the situation was actually pretty ironic. Here he was holding a gun, wearing a bullet-proof vest, running into a clearly dangerous situation where a clearly hostile someone was holding Lisbon. Usually, it was pretty much exactly the other way around. Usually it was her running in to save him.

It feels like he's moving in slow motion, even though he's practically falling down the stairs. The stairs creak beneath his feet and it sends cold chills down his spine. The yellow glow from above sends his black shadow streaming down the wall. He reaches for the doorknob; his hands is shaking, but never had he been more sure of an action.

But before he can turn the knob, it turns under his grasp and the door opens.

And he comes face-to-face with David Croxley.

The man in the picture with Lisbon when she was young and living in a foster home.

The man whose picture he's been looking at all day and night with a hateful vengeance brewing in him.

The red-eyed stranger who had taken his Lisbon.

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**What did I say? Really short. Please review, reviews make me so happy! If you guys review a lot, I'll give a very detailed, long, interesting next chap AND an epilogue! Look at me, I'm bargaining! Now go press that little button on your screen like you **_**know**_** you want to and REVIEW! :) **

**Zanny X**


	12. Chapter 12

**The Red-eyed stranger: Chapter 12**

**WOAH! I know I promised a lot for a review surge, but WOW! It went from somewhere in the thirties, to FIFTY REVIEWS! You guys rock SO HARD, it's like insanity. I mean, really. ROCK. SO. HARD.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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What happened next happened so fast that Jane barely registered it. Croxley's eyes stretched in shock and he turned around, running into the room and pulling the door closed behind him. Jane ran down and pulled at the door – it was closed.

"CROXLEY, OPEN THIS DOOR!"

From the other side he heard Croxley frantically shouting at someone; Lisbon he presumed.

"CROXLEY, OPEN UP OR I'M GONNA KICK THE DOOR DOWN!"

Still frantic shouting, the tone growing more frustrating by the minute.

And somewhere between Croxley's raspy voice sounded music to his ears: Her voice.

She was trying to keep her voice steady and calm like she always did in these situations. But the way she was speaking faster than usual.

The husky, beautiful tone he'd missed so much almost made him stop his frantic pounding on the door. She was there; she was alive.

He felt the weight of Croxley pressed against the door. He was holding it close, yelling at her to run away. Apparently, she was doing no such thing.

Jane took advantage of Croxley's distraction and heaved against the door, knocking it open and sending Croxley staggering backwards in result. He pointed the gun at him boldly. Behind him he heard the team running down the steps behind him, but his thoughts were everywhere but there.

There she was: lying on top of the bed. He's never seen her look like this; she looked pale and thin even though she's only been gone a few days. Her eyes looked tired and glazed over like someone that had taken way too many sleeping pills and black circles hung under them. Her hair was messed up and he could see it sticking to a red spot on her head; a wound. Where Croxley had hit her when he abducted her. _He hit her!_

He felt overwhelming anger rush over him and his eyes must've been bright red when he looked at Croxley as he was getting back to his feet.

He was about to shoot him. He was going to kill that idiot bastard that hurt his Lisbon.

But Croxley flung himself at him just as he pulled the trigger and he the gun shot into air. He was winded as he fell on the ground and he felt Croxley's hands go to his neck.

And he thought: _There's no way I'm letting this son of a bitch kill me now._

They wrestled with the gun, punches flying this way and that way. Jane felt like he was in a cartoon; like those fights with the dust flying and arms and legs poking through at a crazy pace. He could hear the Cho yelling beside them, holding his gun no doubt and trying to aim at Croxley without hitting Jane. An impossible task at this stage.

Somehow in the flurry Croxley had Jane pinned down and he lowered his head to whisper dangerously in his ear… His breath was hot and disgusting against his neck and there were droplets of blood trickling from his mouth from a punch Jane had landed squarely on his jaw.

"You will never get my bride…" He whispered and Jane felt another surge of anger take over him.

With inexplicable strength, Jane threw Croxley off of him and pointed the gun at him. Croxley's hands grasped the gun as well and they struggled, each pointing trying to point the gun in the other direction.

Then the gun was turned sideways.

It felt like it was happening in slow motion; their hands were both straining against the weapon, shaking against the gunshots exploded in Jane's ears.

And the whole world felt like it stopped spinning.

X

"Mister Jane and the suspect were struggling with the gun and a shot went off." Van Pelt explained to the doctor as they ran into the ER. "Is it going to be okay?"

"We don't know that yet, Ma'am. Please, would you just take everyone here to the waiting room? The doctors can't work with you all here."

Van Pelt nodded and stopped running along with the gurney and watched it go. Then she turned around at ushered the rest of the team, who were standing behind her, to the waiting area.

"C'mon guys, you heard her."

They sat together in the waiting area on the hard, unforgiving seats. They sat in nervous silence, the happenings of the day sending them into a numbness.

Two gunshots ended the horror that had haunted them for days on end. Only time will tell how…

One of the shots was fired by Cho, landing, as intended, in David Croxley's chest.

The other was shot by the gun, clutched in a mess of fingers by Jane and Croxley.

After that, all was silent. All was silent and cold and filled with shock.

The gun dropped from Jane's hand (now warm from the shot) and he gazed at it in disbelief.

Then he slowly got up and looked back at her; where she was lying on the bed.

The happy smile that was on his face dropped immediately when he saw her. The clinically white bedding she was lying on was now stained with terrible red.

Her blood.

She was clutching her stomach and her face was contorted in pain. He looked back down at the gun in fear – yes, fear.

Had he?

Now here he was: _hating _himself. She was somewhere in the ER being buzzed around by doctors trying to save her. Because of something _he_ did.

Croxley was also in here. But who was worrying about him?

"I shot her… I shot…" Jane kept chanting, his hands covering his face and tears dripping down beneath them.

"Jane, you don't know that." Van Pelt said, rubbing his back gently.

"Yeah, man, any one of you could've pulled the trigger. You can't blame yourself for this."

"I shot her. And now she's going to die. Because of me."

"Jane, stop talking like that!"

The team falls silent; a big mistake. Because now he can hear a terrible sound that makes him rethink everything he thought before about what pain was. Every moment she was taken that he thought was the absolute worst anybody could ever feel needed to be re-evaluated.

Because there it was: The sound of a flat-line.

How many times had he heard that sound before? On TV-shows and movies and even for real. He's seen his share of death in his life; he's heard the haunting sound of the machine telling you that someone's heart has stopped beating.

But never – never, _ever_ – had he heard it sound this horrifying.

Then a nurse in blue scrubs came over with a regretful look on her face. "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do…"

He shut down. Everything went dark and cold and nothing mattered. He couldn't even summit up the energy to cry any more.

"Jane?" He heard a fuzzy voice somewhere in the background; Van Pelt was shaking him.

"I'm sorry, he died of internal injuries."

_He… He…_

A light went on. "He?" Jane choked out. "_He_ as in David Croxley."

"Yes." The nurse nodded. "I'm very sorry to inform you that he, uh… passed. Are you family?"

Jane let out a relieved sigh, taking his head in his hands and smiling. It earned a very confused look from the nurse.

"No, no… I'm sorry. We're police officers, the man was a murderer."

"Oh…" The nurse flushed bright red and ran out.

The team sat in relieved silence for a while until the tension crept up again.

Cho was the first to break the silence. "Alright, I'm gonna go call Hightower. Tell her Croxley's dead."

They nodded and watched him leave.

Then Van Pelt turned to Jane and took his hands in hers. "Listen Jane, about the way you reacted just now… I want you to calm down. Please, you can't blame yourself for this. And you can't break yourself up if things end…" She swallowed. "She wouldn't want you to torture yourself. She'd want you to keep living."

He shook his head. "I don't know if I can, Grace. This whole thing… I don't know what happened, but I have a whole new appreciation for her. I don't know what I'll do if I lose her."

Van Pelt nodded. She understood.

"Look, I just don't want you to get too freaked out. We need you, Jane. And we need you to be strong."

He nodded simply and offered a brave smile. All lies of course. He knew that if Lisbon didn't survive this he'd never be able to be strong, to be brave. But he couldn't handle a pep talk from Van Pelt, not right now.

The same nurse appeared in the doorway again, looking awkward.

Then she asks, "Is the woman a murderer too?"

"No." Jane shakes his head. "She's a police officer too."

"Oh." The nurse sighs. "Alright then. She's stable. The doctor was able to stop the bleeding in her stomach. She's going to be just fine."

Relieved sighs. Jane jumps up. "Can we see her? I mean… I have something really important to talk to her about."

"She's still under anesthesia. We'll let you know when she's awake."

"Can I just go inside and see her? Please…" He begs.

The nurse hesitated; then gave a slow nod. "She's not going to wake up for a few hours, I warn you."

"It's alright." He says, rushing to follow her to Lisbon's room.

X

He wakes up at the feeling of something cool and smooth against his cheek. His eyes flutter open slowly; he sees the most beautiful he's ever seen in his life.

Her eyes.

"Teresa…" His voice is husky and raspy from sleep. He lifts his head from where it's rested on her bedside – he must've fallen asleep. "Teresa?" Disbelief.

"Hi." She giggles – _giggles!_ – and nuzzles her nose into her pillow. The anesthesia has clearly not worn off yet.

"Is this a dream?" He asks, chuckling sleepily.

"You've been dreaming of me?" She asks, smiling playfully.

"No, not exactly. I haven't been getting much sleep lately."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Not your fault." He smiles again. He can't stop smiling; this moment is surreal. "Teresa, I need to tell you something and I need you to listen."

"Alright, Jane." She says, nodding slowly.

He takes her cool hands in his – the same hands that woke him, gently stroking his cheek. They are soft and silky and wonderful and they make him regret every moment he's known her that he hadn't held her hand.

"Teresa, I need you to be lucid right now. Are you lucid?"

She nods, frowning a serious face; appearing everything but lucid. It makes him chuckle, but he can't wait to tell her.

She's here, she's alive. He needs to tell her, it's practically bubbling over inside of him.

"This happening showed me just how much I want you; just how much I _need_ in you in my life. I love you, Teresa Lisbon. I love you more than I can even begin to explain. And I desperately need you to love me back."

Her eyes are alert and shiny.

"So what do you say?"

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**Oh right, as if I was going to get nice **_**now**_**? With my usual writing habits this one chapter would probably have been three separate chapters. But I promised a long one and I'm not about to break my promise. And it's close to 2000 words, which **_**is**_** a lot for me. So I hope you like it. Epilogue will be up soon (maybe not as soon as normal, but I'm writing exams, cut me a break!)**

**Love you guys! REVIEW!**

**Zanny X**


	13. Epilogue

**The Red-eyed stranger: Epilogue**

**Hi guys! So this is it: The last chapter. Woah. When did I even start with this fic? Not more than two weeks ago, I swear! Insanity, this thing was a update-marathon and a half! I'm so glad you guys read and reviewed! You rock for that! **

**I also have to say thanks to all the new reviewers: In this fic I noticed a lot of new names reviewing along with all my favourites! ;) **

**Anyway, so that's it. Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed it; I had a blast writing; Jisbon love forever… you catch the drift, all the normal stuff.**

**Disclaimer: I have news! My quest to own Mentalist has… totally bombed. Still nothing.

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He was awoken by his favorite feeling in the world; her cool, smooth hand on his cheek. Then the feeling of her soft, warm lips pressing against his.

He smiles against her lips and opens his tired eyes. "Good morning, beautiful." He whispers as he looks into her beautiful blue-green eyes.

"Morning." She chuckles and pulls herself further into his embrace until she is lying on his chest and looking up at him with _those eyes_. "You awake?"

"Well, I am now. But what a way to wake up." He chuckles too and kisses her nose. "How are you feeling?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "I told you, I'm fine! You need to stop worrying about me."

"You just got out of the hospital two weeks ago from a _gunshot wound_." He looks down and his smile drops. "I'm so-"

"If you say sorry, I'm going to show you just how sorry you can be." She threatened, earning an amused smile from him. "No, I'm not joking Jane! Do not mess with a woman with proven aggression issues when you're naked in bed with her!"

Now he's full-on laughing and she giggles at the ticklish feeling of his laugh reverberating against her.

Then he kisses her neck, causing her giggling to come to an abrupt stop and fade into a pleasurable sigh. "C'mon Jane, we talked about this… No fooling around when we have to get to work!"

"Yeah, work isn't that high on my list right now." He mumbles against her skin and moves his lips up to the spot behind her ear. "And what did I say about calling me Jane while we're kissing?"

Suddenly her eyes fly open and she pushes him away. "Nuh-uh, I know what you're trying to do! You're trying to get me to not go to work!"

"What makes you think that?" He asks, not lifting his lips from hers as he rolls them over.

She pushes him off again and sits up, crossing her arms and donning an adorable pout. "C'mon, Jane! I'm totally fine. There's no reason to stay at home any longer."

"_Patrick…_" He insists and looks into her eyes again. Beneath the covers, his thumb traces the scar where the doctors retrieved the bullet. She squirms at the contact – there were some minor complications with the wound. Nothing serious, but it was still sensitive when touched.

"I'm serious… _Patrick_." She drags his name out seriously. "Please don't hover. I mean, I love you, but you're driving me _crazy_!"

His smile pops back onto his face and he looks away shyly.

"What?" She asks, chuckling.

"It never gets old hearing that." He says, rolling back onto his back and pulling her closer so that she's lying on his chest. "I'm just scared you'll get hurt again."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. And before you say it," She says, holding her finger up to silence him before he even mentions everything that happened just a few weeks ago. "I'm fine. I'm going to be fine."

"Can you promise me you'll be okay from now on?" He asks. His words are so innocent that she almost chuckles, but his tone is dead serious.

"No, Jane; I'm never going to be able to _promise_ that I'll always be okay. But what I can promise…" She says, gently curling one of his rogue blonde curls around her finger and smiles sweetly. "…Is that I'll be super-careful. And that _if_ I get hurt… you can take care of me."

He slowly takes her hand and kisses her knuckles; he smiles up at her and marvels.

He marvels at how lucky he got. He's well aware of how close he came to losing her. How close he came to losing his world…

He still can't believe that she loved him back. That she kissed him back when he told her he loved her; that she let him curl up next to her and bury his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent that he had grown to love so much.

Wooing was limited to the hospital, mostly because of the fact that her stay was extended because of the complication. Though the unfriendly accommodation irked him on the romantic front (those _annoying_ little nurses just kept popping in at the most inopportune times!), he worked with it. Every day there was a fresh bouquet of flowers by her bedside; every morning he brought her Starbucks coffee and a bagel to save her from the horrid hospital food. And, of course, there was the day-long cuddling.

When they (_finally_!) released her from the hospital (after an _excessively_ long stay…), he helped her to the apartment and hasn't left since.

"I will _always _take care of you…" He whispers, moving to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Looking into her eyes he knew that he had it lucky; even luckier than he possibly deserved.

And there was no way in hell he was letting it go.

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**Alrighty then! How bout a review for old time's sake? You know you want to! **

**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed so loyally. **

**Zanny X**


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